Darkness is a Funny Thing
by Lee-Jane
Summary: In the aftermath of Emma's sacrifice, Killian isn't sure if he'll come out of this still himself. How can you hang on to yourself when you're alone?


Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you, shadowing you. It follows behind you like a silent stalker. It doesn't even wait for its moment to pounce - pouncing would be too sudden. It bides its time and waits for you to get use to its presence, waits for you to expect it, to believe in it, to yearn for it. Darkness is a patient killer.

The darkness that took Emma was not a darkness Killian was familiar with.

The dagger fell to the ground with a loud clang that rang in his ears. It gleamed menacingly in the street lights of Storybrooke, taunting everyone present with its own presence. "Emma Swan" was etched across its face, and Killian was certain he was about to see his dinner again.

He could hear Robin behind him, trying to comfort a very understandably upset Regina. David seemed to be doing the same for Mary Margaret. No one was comforting him.

Good.

No longer able to take the taunting of the dagger, Killian took a few staggering steps backwards. His eyes sought out objects he could focus on that would keep his gaze away from the faces of the people around him - the light post, the street sign, the mailbox. It didn't matter what he looked at so long as it wasn't the dagger, or anyone's eyes. He could feel himself breaking with each passing second, and breaking was not something Killian Jones did easily. He most certainly didn't want to do that with an audience.

"Killian," he heard Mary Margaret murmur through choked sobs. He didn't respond.

"Hook... I," Regina tried as well, a similar thickness in her throat as Snow's. He didn't respond. If anyone else called after him, the stark, pointed click click click of his boots drowned them out.

Killian didn't return to his ship like anyone would expect. Not right away, anyway. They would find him there, and Killian did not want to be found. His heart was breaking; he could feel it. Emma sacrificed herself for Regina, for her family, for the town, for him. He wondered if her heart broke similarly when he sacrificed himself in the alternate world the Author had created. If it had, he was sorry. This slow, devastating, certain heart ache was the worst pain he's ever felt - and this was the fourth time he felt it. It didn't get easier.

He had made it deep into the woods when his heart finally shattered, and he fell to his knees by a fallen tree as sobs racked him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see. Painful cries and screams caught in his throat, choked him. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.

Why? Why was he always left behind? Why did he always have to be the one to move on, to find a way to live? Why did everyone leave him? When he was a child, he was left behind. When he was a bright eyed young sailor, he was left behind. When he was a carefree pirate, he was left behind. When he was a redeemed hero, he was left behind. The world didn't care if he was good or bad, the world just took and took and took until he had nothing left.

Killian didn't have much to begin with.

He once told Emma about how he kept replaying the moment Liam died over and over in his head. He once told her not to do that to herself. He did that to himself.

Behind closed eyes, he saw Emma raising the dagger. He saw the darkness sweeping down upon her. He saw her golden hair whipping about, her green eyes staring him down like he was the last light of the last day of her life, he saw her jaw set and determined to do what was right because that's what she's meant to do. And he saw her disappear.

When his sobs died down, the numbness set in. The numbness let him catch his breath, wipe his eyes, and stand. But numbness let him become someone else rather than feel, numbness let him leave behind everything he once strove for, and numbness let him become selfish. He may be completely alone now that Emma was gone, but Killian didn't want to lose himself again.

He returned to their loft, expecting to find them there. It had been a few hours since Emma left, and he figured if they had searched for him at all, they would have given up by now. There was no answer when he knocked, and the door was locked. Perhaps they'd gone to bed.

Killian didn't want to go back to his ship and sleep as if this was an ordinary day, so he leaned against the wall by the door and slid down until he was seated on the floor. He didn't care if he looked foolish seated there, and before long his eyes drooped, his breaths slowed, and he fell asleep.

This was a darkness he was familiar with.

Hushed voices entered his dreamless sleep. And then the voices were not so hushed. Someone was shaking him awake, and Killian wanted very much to stay asleep. The person shaking him didn't care.

Frowning, his eyes opened. It took a few blinks before everything was in focus, but he knew who had been shaking him even before the bleariness cleared. David, damn him.

"Damn it, Hook! We've been looking for you all night! Why didn't you answer your phone?" David almost yelled. The volume was not something Killian was alright with after just waking.

"No need to shout..." he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" David repeated.

Right. The talking device. Killian reached into his pocket to pull the damned thing out, expecting either a missed call, or some sign that the thing had lost power again. Instead he found his pocket empty. He searched the rest of his pockets as well, all turning up with nothing.

"Must have fallen out..." came his exhausted reply. David didn't look pleased with the answer.

"At least we know where you are now," Mary Margaret said with a sigh of what seemed like relief from the doorway into the loft.

"Yeah. Come on." David stood and offered Killian his hand to help him up. Killian didn't take it. He stood with a grunt and lazily entered the loft, not caring that he probably looked like hell. He also didn't care about the way David's brow was creasing, or how Mary Margaret's red eyes looked over him with concern.

The silence in the loft was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Killian-" Mary Margaret started.

"Hook-" David started.

They paused and gave each other a look. Killian didn't like the looks of the look.

"Where's the lad?" he asked when neither of them continued speaking.

"With Regina," Mary Margaret answered. That made sense. Henry would want to be somewhere comforting - and probably away from the room he shared with his mother.

"There's something we need to talk about," David announced with an ominous tone, biting at his lip as he sat down on the couch. Talk about dramatic flair. Mary Margaret took her seat next to him. Even in Storybrooke, the two of them sat like they were king and queen. The king and queen had something to say to him. Killian just leaned against the wall.

"The dagger," Mary Margaret said with a swallow that suggested she was trying her hardest to not start crying again. The sight of it made Killian's eyes burn, and he had to look away. "The dagger needs to be... someone needs to take care of it."

"Of course," came Killian's bitten reply. That's how the dark one worked. The dagger must be in someone's possession so the dark one could be controlled. They couldn't just leave it somewhere for anyone to take hold of. The thought of anyone wanting to control Emma like that made his throat dry.

"We thought that... you should be the one to hold it," David supplied slowly.

Killian wasn't sure he heard them right. With a frown, he dragged his eyes back over to the king and the queen, his expression full of skepticism and disbelief. Him? Hold the dagger? Killian spent centuries chasing down the man who tore his last love away from him, dreamt of the day he'd hold that dagger in his hand and drive it through the squirming crocodile's heart as he laughed and smiled and won.

Now the thought of holding onto the dagger with his love's name etched into it made him want to vomit. He just barely made it to the bathroom in time.

Mary Margaret ran soothing circles along his shoulders as he emptied his stomach into the basin. He was too busy trying to keep some dignity during the embarrassing ordeal to notice the panicked looks Snow was sending David who was still seated on the couch in the living room.

Killian rested his head against his arm, his face still pointed towards the basin should anything else decide it didn't want to stay in him. Mary Margaret gingerly rubbed the back of his head. It was odd, he decided after a moment of digesting what was happening. Was Mary Margaret really trying to mother him?

David placed a glass of water on the counter. Killian wasn't even aware the other man had moved from the couch.

"You ok?" David asked once he caught Killian's gaze.

"Aye..." Killian grunted. He wanted to move, but Mary Margaret was still trying to comfort him - the idea was still ridiculous to him - and he didn't want her to be around him while he cleaned up. She apparently got the message from his hesitance and stood.

"Take your time," she said as she tip-toed out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. David more or less did the same.

Killian flushed the toilet, washed his face, and rinsed the bile out of his mouth before exiting the bathroom, that cup of water David brought him in his hand. They were both seated on the couch again.

"So," David started. "I'd say that was a pretty solid 'no'."

"Aye. That was a no, mate." Killian drained the glass.

"Why?" Mary Margaret asked.

Why? Why didn't he want to hold the dagger that he chased after for centuries while he buried himself deeper and deeper in darkness? Why didn't he want to hold the dagger that he lusted after just so he could murder another person? Why didn't he want to hold the dagger that gave another being the power to rip out his love's heart and crush it in front of him? Why didn't he want to hold the dagger that would give him control over the woman he was madly in love with, who sacrificed herself with that dagger and left him all alone?

"I just don't," was his answer.

David eyed the bathroom. Killian knew that was the king's way of calling bullshit.

"Emma would want it to be you..." Mary Margaret murmured, and Killian so wished she hadn't. She was probably right. Killian told Emma that it was his job - he hoped - to protect her heart. That meant it was his job to make sure no one got control over her either. But Killian wouldn't, couldn't touch that dagger. If the mere thought of having it made him retch, he didn't want to think what actually physically touching it would do to him.

"It can't be me."

"Then who?"

They both looked to him. How odd was it that this king and queen, these two parents were looking to a notorious pirate to make a decision about their daughter. Even distraught and broken, the situation was not lost on Killian.

It was a good question, though. If Killian couldn't hold onto the dagger, then who could? If Mary Margaret and David were asking him, then they'd already ruled themselves out. He wasn't sure why, but he figured they must have had their reasons.

"Henry?" he supplied, uncertain. David looked ready to protest, but Mary Margaret laid a gentle hand on his forearm.

"Do you think he could handle it?" she asked tentatively.

Henry may have been young, but he had proven time and time again that he had the wit, the know-how, and the courage to take on just about anything.

"Better than I could," he replied with more life in him than he's had since Emma disappeared.

"Henry it is, then," Mary Margaret agreed with a nod, looking over at David to see if he did as well. David nodded after a moment. He didn't seem happy about the idea, but it was clear he was out numbered.

"Then tomorrow, we start coming up with a battle plan," David announced as he stood and entered the bathroom. "Tonight, we get some rest."

Killian didn't need to ask what the battle plan was for. They were the royal family, and he'd been around them long enough to know they always found each other. The thought of that had the corners of his lips tugging into what could almost pass as a smile. At least they'd find her, wherever she was. And after that, they could find a way to break the curse. That was something he needed to talk to everyone about. He and Henry had been with Emma when the Apprentice had said the name of the Sorcerer. No one else had been. Killian imagined it would be prudent for them to locate the Sorcerer if they wanted to free Emma of the curse of the Dark One. But that was something to be saved for the next day.

Breaking down wasn't something Killian Jones did easily, after all. And he was most definitely exhausted from his break down. It was likely he'd have another before the night was through.

"Killian," Mary Margaret said hesitantly as he reached for the door to leave. "You can... You know you can stay here, right?"

Killian didn't know that.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well Henry's not using his bed tonight... And Emma's bed is..." She choked back the tears that wanted to fall. "Emma's bed is also empty so... You don't have to be alone is all I'm saying." By the end of her statement, Mary Margaret had failed to keep the tears in. They fell down her cheeks one by one. Killian found something comforting in the lines they made upon her face, and the way her eyes were reddened. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes as well.

"I... I thank you for the offer, but I -"

"You're staying here." David had come out from the bathroom just at the right moment, it seemed. Or perhaps he'd heard the conversation and felt the need to jump in. "We spent hours looking for you. We're not going to spend hours looking for you again tomorrow. You stay here. We're a family, and none of us are in this alone."

Killian was speechless. The amount of concern and care the two of them were displaying for him was something he never thought he'd experience. It surprised him even when Emma showed him affection now and then, and she'd told him she loved him right before disappearing. David and Mary Margaret were calling him... family. Family wasn't something Killian had for several life times. He wasn't sure he even understood what the word meant anymore.

Apparently the matter was settled now, though. David returned to the bathroom, and Mary Margaret was wiping at her eyes as she walked towards her dresser. "I'll get you some of David's things for tonight."

Killian ghosted behind her, that is until he passed the bassinet. It was empty.

"Where's the young prince?" he murmured.

"Belle has him. With... with everything that's happened tonight... I don't think I can take care of him." She pulled out a pair of sweat pants and folded them over her arm.

Killian knew he should say something, anything. But he wasn't sure what. Normally words came to him easily, but the night was so full of ups and downs and surprises that the whole mess left him in a strange sort of numb, whirling state.

Mary Margaret pulled out a shirt, then held the articles of clothing out for him to take. Tears were still silently lining her face, but her smile towards him seemed genuine. It was all very confusing.

Killian took the clothes into his arms with a murmured word of thanks. Part of him felt the urge to hug Mary Margaret. It was an urge he hadn't had before. It wasn't like the way he wanted to hug Emma, to hold her, feel her pressed against him and keep her there forever. No, this was a different sort of feeling. He wanted security, comfort, and a way to share his grief. Families did that sort of thing, right?

David exited the bathroom and clapped Killian on the shoulder. "Go wash up. Bathroom's free," he said as he walked towards his bed.

Killian entered the bathroom to change and wash up, as instructed. The numbness was still there, the exhaustion still heavy, and the grief was lurking in the background waiting for its chance to spring back into the forefront of his mind. But he found that somehow, this time, he hadn't actually been left completely alone. Maybe he'd actually manage to come through this one more or less in tact. Maybe this time, he wouldn't lose himself.


End file.
